


All last summer

by silvereyedotaku



Category: An Inspector Calls - Priestley
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Love, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvereyedotaku/pseuds/silvereyedotaku
Summary: Eric is not his sister.





	All last summer

**Author's Note:**

> title taking from "except all last summer", a quote from Sheila about Gerald spending time away from her

Eric is  _ not _ his sister. He refuses to be his sister.

He will not simper and smile softly, batting his eyelashes at a suitor. For starters, he would look utterly ridiculous. Instead he hopes silently that Gerald will somehow notice the crackling tension between them. At least this way he preserves a little dignity. Of course, that dignity would be abandoned if Gerald so much as offered him a drink, but Eric pretends that he's a man of strong principals. The type of man his father pretends to be.    


Speaking of his father, Eric catches him glaring at him disapprovingly, eyeing the multitude of empty glasses in front of him. Eric expected this, but when his father turns to mother and whispers something in her ear, he feels a sharp stab of irritation.

His mother gives him a disappointed look as well, nodding along to what father is telling her.

He supposes that this treatment is a result of Gerald’s presence. They're always so much more critical of his actions when they’re hosting important company. Eric understands that Gerald really  _ is _ important, to Sheila and his parents. He's certainly crucial for the family's upward mobility. Sheila marrying him is like striking the jackpot.

Eric's stomach twists as he looks at the happy couple. Sheila and Gerald smile at each other in that sickeningly fond way and Eric fights the urge to throw something. 

Sheila certainly looks pleased with herself, giggling at something Gerald has said. He supposes she would be - Gerald is a rich, intelligent, upper-class young man. And god knows he's handsome. He's every woman's dream.

Eric hates that perfection violently, the same way he hates when his heart jumps out of his chest at the slightest bit of contact.

It doesn't really matter. Whatever Eric feels, it's indecisive and unpredictable. When these feelings had first come about, when Gerald had first started courting his sister, he'd dismissed them as a side-effect of the brandy he'd been drinking at the time.

After that encounter, Eric had met him a great deal of times, entirely sober and the tugging in his chest hadn't diminished in the slightest, proving that it wasn't just a misguided effect of the alcohol.

The fact that his feelings might have been genuine had terrified Eric more than he could even visualise. It had felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, and accepting his desires felt like willingly jumping off.

Since then, he's forced himself to confront how he feels. It's ridiculous, really, because at the end of the day, nothing will come of it. Gerald will marry his sister and they'll live a peaceful, typical life. His parents will be seen as upper-class (which Eric knows will delight them, if they're hushed conversations are anything to go on), exactly what they've been aiming for.

The only good thing about his parents’ reactions to Gerald is that they assume Eric is jealous. The truth is, they're exactly right, but Eric is jealous in an entirely different way than they assume. They believe that Eric envies Gerald’s success, his wealth and charm and ability to obtain a wife. Whilst it's accurate to say he is resentful of Gerald’s easy ability to woo those around him, it's not because he wishes to possess such an ability himself. 

No, instead he hopes that Gerald will smile gently at him, not Sheila; he hopes that Gerald will touch the small of his back, not his sister’s. 

He sees the pity in his father’s gaze, and it only serves to make him feel worse.

Gerald seems genuinely oblivious to him. Eric knows he hasn't been exactly subtle in his longing, but he doubts Gerald would notice if Eric grabbed him by the lapels and declared his undying love for him. It's a relief, but a bittersweet one. 

Sheila seems almost radiant in the lighting of the dining room. She looks youthful and lovely, hair falling delicately around her face in soft curls. Despite it all, for a brief moment he feels joy for her. It is wonderful that she's found such an extraordinary man to spend the rest of her life with. Especially with her nasty temper.

He supposes this is her ideal situation. What would she say if she knew about Eric’s immoral feelings towards Gerald? Would she laugh or wrinkle her nose in disgust? Or would she remove the ring from her finger and cancel the wedding? It's an inconceivable fancy, but is satisfying to imagine nonetheless.

Eric stares at Gerald's strong hands, spread across the dining table. Indiscriminate thoughts fill his head, some so filthy that he flushes in shame, some so sweet that he feels disgusted with himself.

Eric finds himself breathing a sigh of relief as the dreams of picnics and soft summer evenings are overridden by Gerald’s strong arms and his teasing smile. At least now the nausea will leave him. He thinks of it as a blessing for all of two seconds, before he feels a stirring of heat in his stomach.

He rushes to pull down his jacket, trying to inconspicuously edge his bottom half out of sight. He wills himself to think of other things; how nice the chicken is, for example. However, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, his thoughts stray to dirty, unimaginable images. 

It's strangely freeing to look at Gerald and admit to himself that he wants to get on his knees for him. 

Guilt floods his system again, fire in his stomach dampened by the fact that he's lusting after his sister’s fiancé.

He turns away from their smiling faces. He needs some fresh air. 

\--

Outside, Eric gulps down great breaths of the cold air. It makes his chest ache and the back of his throat hurt, but it grounds him in the present.

He stares up at the house he grew up in, thoughtful. It's enormous and grandiose. In the freezing night, staring up at the Birling house, he suddenly empathises with the resentment of the poor. In the dark, class divisions and social status seem ridiculous. 

He knows his parents will tut-tut at him if he voices these thoughts. He  _ knows,  _ as sure as he knows that this system that they all worship is wrong. As surely as he knows he loves Gerald. 

Or maybe it isn't love. Maybe it's some misguided familial adoration, born from him never having a brother. But it's definitely something close to love. Something close to what he felt when he took his girl to bed.

Absentmindedly, he wonders where she is now. He finds that he cares less than he expected. It's been a long time since those nights. 

She was beautiful, beautiful in a worn, tired way. She made him want her, though. She made him push her down in to bed and melt into her. 

It was her who made the events to transpire how they did, just as it was her who made him stop giving her money. It didn't matter, anyway. She was gone now.

But his mind continues to drift back to that night. Her sweet, soft sounds fill his head, sending a hot tingle down his spine. That's not the only reason he remembers it so vividly, however.

The moment stands out in his head - he recalls it in distressing, explicit detail. They were rocking together, both chasing their end, a passionate fire flickering softly between them. 

Eric had groaned, something hot coiling tightly in the pit of his stomach. His hips had stuttered in their rough movements, release suddenly rushing over him. It had been at that moment, Eric drowning in bliss, that the name had fallen from his lips. 

“ _ Gerald _ ,” he had gasped breathlessly, hips still rocking slowly, riding out his orgasm. 

It was a source of great shame for Eric, but that will not stop him from picturing it. And thoughts like these often lead on to more thoughts, thoughts of what it would’ve been like if Gerald truly had been there.

Would he have forced him down onto the bed as roughly as he'd forced the girl? No, he thinks it unlikely. Instead, Gerald would shove him until the backs of his knees hit the bed, until he had no other choice but to fall onto the sheets.

And then Gerald would lean over him, take him in his arms, and have him like that, like Eric had had the girl. 

Eric is blushing to his roots, despite his freezing surroundings. 

He's not entirely aware of the specifics of how two men might go about enjoying such carnal pleasures together, in all honesty, because why would he be? Before the girl, his experience had lay only in reading about the abstracts of such activities. 

Now he knew about how a man and a woman might go about consummating their love, but he's still wretchedly unaware of the activities of two counterparts of the same sex.

Lost in curious thought, he doesn't notice the sound of footsteps behind him. A hand lands on his shoulder, and he flinches away, both from shock and instinctively. He calms himself and turns towards the figure behind him, finding Edna standing behind him

“Oh, hello,” he says mildly, wondering why she's at his side. She bobs her head respectfully, a poor substitution for a greeting. But he supposes she cannot afford to be too bold, lest his parents overhear. He's not sure how they would, giving they’re nowhere in sight, but he assumes old habits die hard.

“For what reason are you here?” he prompts her wearily, suddenly exhausted. It's all too much, and the weather’s too harsh, and he’s far too sober, but he summons his next words through pure determination. “Did my parents send you?” 

Edna shakes her head slowly. “Your guest, Mr Croft, asked if I could find you and bring you inside.” 

Eric's heart feels like it's slamming against his ribs. “He did?” he starts conversationally, then remembers Edna doesn't have the courage or permission to engage in equal conversation. “What was his reason for asking?” 

“Something about the frightful weather, and what a shame it would be to finish the dinner without you present.”

Eric feels lightheaded. “Really?” he asks faintly. “He said that?”

Edna nods meekly, eyes still fixed on the ground. “He did, yes. Those words.” 

Eric gathers himself. “Right. Then it's only proper I return, I suppose.” Edna nods again, following after him as he strides towards the house. 

\--

He sits back down at the table, drawing the attention of his family. “Apologies,” he intones. “I needed some air.” 

His parents lose interest almost immediately, turning back to the food heaped on their plates. Sheila is all the more fascinated with her fiancé, hanging on to his every word. But aforementioned fiancé is not as fixated on her, it seems. Instead he makes eye contact with Eric. 

Eric tries to look innocent, like he hadn't just been imagining Gerald holding him down and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. 

“I'm glad you saw fit to return.” 

The words are so unexpected that Eric is sure he'd imagined them, until he looks up and catches Gerald staring at him, smiling.

“I- Edna just-” Eric stutters, hating himself for his stumbling words. “It's no great hardship.” he finishes awkwardly, staring down at his hands. By some grace of God, he is no longer showing the physical signs of arousal, a small blessing in this whirlpool of sin.

Gerald smiles wider. “I'm glad you feel that way. I believe that it  _ would _ be a hardship to not have the entire family present at such an occasion as this.”

“Oh.” Eric tries not to sound disappointed. This makes more sense, but that doesn't stop the carefully ignored spark of hope from fizzling out.

“I'm sure your parents feel the same.” Gerald smiled at him warmly and Eric barks a bitter laugh at his idiocy. He respects Gerald, deeply, irrevocably, but that is a remarkably foolish thing to assume. 

Gerald frowns at him. “You find humour in my words?” he asks, his tone a little hurt. 

Eric bites back his laughter, and instead smiles. It's a rough, resentful kind of smile, with no real happiness behind it. “Perhaps I do,” he addresses Gerald across the table. “What of it?”

“I’m afraid I do not understand the joke. Is there some jest I'm uninformed of?” Gerald asks him, sincerely curious in a way that makes Eric want to cry.

“Forgive me, it was not at your expense,” Eric tells him reassuringly, spearing a piece of chicken on his fork and putting it into his mouth. “It’s hardly worth worrying about, so don't trouble yourself, please,” he says with his mouth full.

His mother tuts across the table at him, disapproving of his bad manners, but Gerald is unaffected by his poor etiquette.

“Very well, I will not fret.” he smiles again, and Eric feels a stab of pain through his chest, looking away. 

“Indeed, there are more important things your thoughts should be focused on,” he cannot resist adding, even if the thought of the wedding makes him want to leave the house again.

Gerald stares at him, confused. “What important things? I'm certain if they were important enough to commandeer focus, I'd know what they were.” 

“Well. Possibly, they're not as important as I first believed.” Eric shoves another piece of meat into his mouth, if only to quiet himself. What is he thinking, saying these things? Veiled implications lie far too close to the surface of his words. 

Gerald blinks. “Possibly.” he remarks finally, obviously still unaware of the true meaning behind Eric’s words.

Dinner continues in the same boring manner, with occasional spikes of interest when Gerald makes a comment. The drudgery is over after an hour or so, and Eric makes his way up to bed.

He almost trips over his feet when he catches a glimpse of Gerald and Sheila huddled together in an alcove. His parents would not approve of them being alone together, Eric muses absentmindedly. 

He was about to turn away when he hears Sheila whisper something. He slips into one the dark shadows that paint the hallway, listening. 

“I'm sorry about my family. I know they're not pleasant at the best of times.” Sheila hisses.

Gerald shakes his head. “Think nothing of it. They are fine enough people, and they do not bother me.” 

Sheila breathes a sigh of relief. “I'm so glad you feel that way. Truly. I would hate for you to genuinely dislike them.” 

Eric turns away as Gerald begins to speak again. “Yes, but your brother did say something that perplexed me.” Eric’s breath caught in his throat. “Something about thinking of more important things. Do you understand what he means by that?” 

“Not in the slightest.” Sheila leans into his chest and it hurts Eric more than he can bear to admit. “Don't pay him any heed, though. He means well, but no words of sense leave his mouth after a little drink.”

“Ah.” Gerald says, and he sounds like he's considering something. “You mean, he has difficulty controlling his tongue? Perhaps I could help him with his self-control when he's drunk. I'm a mostly sober man myself, at the best of times.” Eric’s mind fights to move the words into a more obscene context. He firmly tells himself there were no sexual connotations behind Gerald’s words. None.

_ Difficulty controlling your tongue _ , his brain repeats back to him and he abruptly wishes he could slam his head into the ornately carved wooden door next to him, if only to knock the thoughts out of his head.

“It's not worth the effort, my parents have tried.” Sheila says dismissively, as if it's really that simple.

Eric continues on his way to bed and tries to forget that he ever overheard that conversation.

When sleep comes, dragging him into the sticky soup of unconsciousness, he dreams of nothing but Gerald.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
